Light in the Darkness
by Darkover
Summary: Caught up in an intensely painful memory, Faramir is comforted by the equally strong memory of the one who saved him. Written for the Teitho Challenge, "Candles."


6

Title: "Light in the Darkness"

Author: Darkover

Rating: K

Word Count: 1,021

Disclaimer: The characters of "The Lord of the Rings" were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, not by me, and I am not pretending otherwise. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Summary: Caught up in an intensely painful memory, Faramir is comforted by the equally strong memory of the one who saved him. Written for the Teitho Challenge, "Candles."

~ooo0ooo~

Faramir had been out of sorts all day, but he had not wanted to admit it even to himself, much less think about why. He went to his bedchamber for some privacy, and sat staring out the window, but as the sun sank lower in the sky, he found himself fighting off a feeling that bordered on panic.

_Darkness is coming. I do not want to be alone in the dark! Help me! _

The feeling gripped him with such intensity, overwhelmed him so, that he could not move from the edge of the bed upon which he sat, nor could he collect his voice to call out. He was trapped, just like before. 

_Help me…_

When a servant entered the room, lit the candle by the bed, and then departed, Faramir's eyes went to it, his gaze sharpening as his entire attention was absorbed by the small flame. Caught up in sense memory, he was aware of nothing else.

_Yes, it was just like that…_

It had been dark, a smothering, all-consuming darkness that held him captive. He could not see, could not hear, and could barely feel anything except an overwhelming heat, burning thirst, and a tremendous despair.

He was walking, or thought he was. He could not tell where it was heading, or why it was important to do so. He just sensed that if he stopped walking, stopped moving, he would die. Or worse. Most Men would have said there was nothing worse than death, but most Men had not faced the Witch-king, nor had they suffered the Black Breath. If it were just a matter of dying, he might have been willing to let it happen. If it would bring an end to this near-total sensory deprivation, he might almost have welcomed it.

But it would not. Faramir could not have said how he knew this, but the result would be much worse. So he kept on plodding, desperately, onward in the never-ending darkness. Or perhaps he was just walking in place. The overwhelming sensation of defeat, the fear that his continued efforts were useless, was almost enough to make him drop and cease resisting, just allowing whatever evil fate to happen—

A tiny light glowed in the darkness.

Faramir's gaze sharpened, and he may have cried aloud—he could not hear himself, if he did. The light was as small as a candle flame, but it was there. He set off toward it at the greatest speed he could manage.

For some moments, the light did not get any bigger, but neither did it decrease. Then suddenly, it expanded and grew. Rays shot forth, chasing away the blackness.

A man stepped into the light. The man was quite tall, handsome of face, dark of hair and grey of eye; he wore a winged crown, with what appeared to be the light of the star of Earendil on his noble brow. He extended his hands to the younger son of the Steward. "Faramir! Long have I called you. Wander no more in the shadows, but come with me! For you are much loved by your people, and I also have need of you!"

Faramir actually sobbed with relief, and he went down on one knee before the man. Instinctively, he knew this was the long-lost King of Gondor, the one whose return he, in his secret heart of hearts, had long wished for, but not since the days of his childhood had he ever expected to see. The tall man took hold of his hands, lifting him upright—

Faramir had opened his eyes to find himself lying in a bed, with the same man of his dream sitting on the edge of his bed, bending over him. The man's strong hands clasped Faramir's, and his face was the same, but otherwise, he appeared very different. He wore no crown, and his clothing was the simple rough clothing of a soldier, with the grey cloak of the Dunedain and a green elfstone fastened at his throat—the latter his only ornament. His face and clothing were streaked with dust, sweat, and blood, and he appeared weary. But his eyes were kind, and he had given the newly-recovered Faramir a brilliant smile.

_**Walk no more in the shadows, but awake! **_

"My lord?" another, feminine voice was saying, as if from far away. "Faramir?" There was a note of urgency and a great deal of concern in the voice, as if it had been addressing him for some time.

He blinked and roused himself. He had been staring so hard at the single flame of the candle that he had hypnotized himself into total recall. His wife, the Lady Eowyn, was sitting next to him on the bed; her hand was on his arm, and she was regarding him with great concern.

"I should have known better than to leave you alone, with darkness coming on, on this night of all nights," she said, referring to the fact that this was the anniversary of the day he had confronted and been ensorcelled by the Witch-king.

Faramir took a deep breath, then another, and smiled at his beloved wife. "It is nothing, my love. A momentary lapse."

"It did not look like nothing," she retorted. "You were remembering your suffering at his hands, the long walk in darkness and nothingness, were you not?"

"Yes," Faramir acknowledged, and then looked at the candle flame again. This time, though, he was consciously recalling the sight of the King, the radiance of the star in his crown, the elfstone at his throat, the kindness of his visage, and the welcoming smile and the warmth of the hands that had taken hold of his, drawing out of that dark abyss. "But I also remember he who drove away the darkness, as the flame of this candle drives away the lesser darkness in this chamber."

He turned to Eowyn, and they kissed.

"I will be forever grateful, my love, to the Valar and to the One, for you, and also for my liege-lord, who saved me."

Aragorn Elessar. His savior, his friend, his king.


End file.
